Jaina Proudmoore - A Meeting in the Mist
by Deckenpuppel
Summary: Before the Battle for Azeroth begins, Jaina Proudmoore finds herself encountering an old acquaintance in the mist.


**J** aina Proudmoore had no idea where she was or how she had gotten to this place. She was wandering through thick mist. Its veil was so impenetrable that it concealed everything exceeding the reach of her outstretched arm. Beneath her feet, she saw the cracked and weed-choked cobblestone of an ancient road. She did not know where it was supposed to lead, but even so she did not stop. Something unseen was urging her forward, and she did not have the strength to deny its pull.

For how long she walked, she was not able to tell. Whatever this place was, time had no relevance in it. Involuntarily, her thoughts drifted to Kalec. As kin to the former aspect of the bronze dragonflight, Kalecgos doubtlessly would have been able to provide some greater insight into the matter. Jaina smiled, despite herself. She welcomed the bittersweet mixture of love and regret that always accompanied her thoughts of Kalec. In a boundless and shrouded sea of uncertainty, the prospect of someday being able to return to his side was the single point of light at the furthest edge of her horizon. It was unclear whether she would ever be able to reach it, but for the moment it did not matter. It was what she would always be moving towards. Until the very end.

There was no light in the distance on the road she was walking on right now, and the only sounds audible to her ears were the sounds of her own passing. It lasted, until out of nowhere a shape emerged from the mist. She stepped onto a crossroads, marked in the middle by some massive bolder that the intersecting roads snaked around. Curiously, the fog drew back a little, granting her vision to an extent of maybe 10 feet, but all it did was allowing her to see the boulder more clearly. Jaina stopped and her eyes roamed the murky walls stretching around her, looking for some clue as to where she was or what direction to follow. The absence of sound was devastating in its desolation. Only once before had she experienced this void indicating a total lack of life, and the aching brought about by even touching upon that memory was almost more than she was able to bear.

She tried focussing on what lay before her. The most striking feature — aside from the towering boulder — was the absence of any sort of signpost. She looked around, examining the ground for grooves left by cards or carriages, as well as examining the boulder from all sides and angles. But there was nothing to be found. All roads looked equally abandoned and the stone was dark and perfectly non-descript, bare of any markings that would have been capable of being of any significance.

Jaina closed her eyes and sighed. The pain at last found its way into her features. She could feel a faint sense of panic rising inside of her, strengthening the need to move on. It did not matter where, as long as she kept moving, as long as things changed rather than staying the same. Nothing was right the way it was right now. Yet it was her own head that was not allowing her to simply pick a road at random. Lacking anything that could start to distinguish her choices from one another, her analytical mind that had been one of her greatest assets all her life doomed her to inaction.

Anger sparked inside of her, setting fire to the panic and pain that filled her. For a moment she trembled, then she punched the stone in frustration, welcoming the distraction the external pain of her knuckles brought as they smashed against the unyielding stone. She bit her lip, hard, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to come. Then her eyes flared open and she wirled around, peering once more into the depths of the mist.

Somebody was coming.

Two shades took form as they stepped out of the mist and onto the crossroads. One lumbered forward on all fours, the other walked upright beside it. Both of them were large and bulky, easily dwarfing Jaina's slender frame. For a brief instance, a fresh wave of panic and alarm washed over her, and she was about to get ready to defend herself, when something about the shades gave her pause. It was a sense of familarity that came as a surprise to her. Whatever this place was, she had not expected to encounter anything here she recognized. Or anyone.

When the figures finally stepped out into the open, it was as if someone walked straight over Jaina's grave. The massive bear by itself would have been more than enough to cause concern, but certainly paired with the yellow-skinned warrior walking beside it, the pair represented a force to be reckoned with. Jaina would know. She had seen them in battle once before.

Her lips trembled, trying to deny what her eyes had already acknowledged, but eventually she forced the name over her lips. It rang out like a long-forgotten curse.

"Rexxar."

"Lady Proudmoore."

The words sounded gruff and awkward in the deep gluttoral voice of the beast master, but their was no denying the respect with which they were uttered. The warrior seemed to be as surprised by their encounter as she was. It did not make any sense.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded to know. "What is this place?"

Beside Rexxar, Misha growled softly, but Rexxar put one of his massive hands to the bear's head and began to pet her as he looked around.

"I do not know."

Jaina had figured as much, but hearing the Mok'Nathal confirm it did little to lessen her frustration. Her hands clenched into fists again, and the longer she looked at Rexxar, the angrier she got. Rexxar had much to answer for. As did she, and both of their times would come, but this — she felt — was not the place for it. His appearance, however, solved her earlier predicament about which path to take. Without another word, she turned around and started to head back the way she had come.

"Hold."

The word was spoken calmly, but it resonated with authority. It was a word the beast master's voice was much better suited for than exchanging niceties, capable of rising clearly over the clash of arms. Just as it had when the Horde had attacked Theramore, when she had stood by and let it all happen.

Everything about that statement felt so fundamentally wrong, but it was the truth. Worse, it was not even the whole story. Whether through action or inaction, she had helped the Horde butcher countless brave soldiers, including her very own father. It had not felt like it at the time, but now the mere thought all but made her gag. And for what?

"Maybe you and I should talk."

Jaina laughed, looking over her shoulder at the first sacker of her beloved city. Her eyes went icy cold.

"Is that so?" she asked. "What would the two of us possibly have to talk about?"

"Something has brought us here for a reason," Rexxar suggested. "Much has changed."

Jaina hissed. How dared this ogre take those words into his mouth, mocking her and everyone who had lost his their life that day! She was fuming, barely clinging on to control over her actions, when Misha roared and rose to meet her. Jaina wheeled backwards, momentarily started by the animal's reaction. Rexxar grabbed his companion by the shoulder, holding the massive beast in place. He looked at her questioningly. Did he truly not understand?

"You have no right!" she spat at him. "No right to talk about any of it. None of you do! All of you warriors with your high talks about honor and glory. You could have stopped him!" her voice broke. "You should have stopped him..."

It almost gave her pleasure seeing Rexxar groan under the guilt she was laying at this doorstep. He had at least the decency to give her that much. But it was only a single cooling droplet of satisfaction sizzling upon her boiling soul. No mere pettiness like that would ever suffice to bring her peace.

Rexxar averted his eyes and turned again to pet Misha's head. The bear had retired to its haunches, but it kept eyeing Jaina suspiciously.

"You are right," Rexxar said eventually. "We should have."

His voice was guarded, betraying little of the motion within. But Jaina was not finished yet.

"But you didn't. One brave Tauren saw the truth and tried, but when he was slain, instead of following his example, what did you do? Where was your honor when Garrosh plotted to murder my people? Where were you when he dropped his cursed bomb?"

Rexxar stayed quiet. It did not matter whether as warrior, or former champion of the Horde. He did not have an answer to that question. Part of Jaina wished that he had, that he would try to explain how he was still in Outland at the time or wandered the most secluded corners of Desolace or Feralas. She would have loved to rip those pathetic excuses apart.

"So don't you dare say to me that things have changed," she went on. "No one is more aware of that than me! I don't need to be told to remember. I will never forget, not what was lost, nor who is to blame. But I am done talking."

She had expected Rexxar to cringe further under her assault, but he did not. If anything, the Mok'Nathal righted himself and countered with a question that surprised Jaina.

"So what are you doing instead?"

Jaina blinked in confusion. "What kind of question is that?"

"You just spoke of savagery, but from what I heard, you are out for blood these days as well. You should know that one does not hunt down a beast by turning into one yourself."

Instantly, Jaina's features hardened once more, and she took a bold step forward, ignoring the growl that rose from Misha's maw.

"So is that the angle you are going to play, huh? Showing me how resorting to violence myself constitutes only another victory for Garrosh? That if I succumb to this, I am allowing him to break me, and how this isn't what my people would have wanted? I have no desire for violence, but I have awoken now, and I will make sure that the Horde never gets to hurt people like they have mine ever again. That the only way this can be achieved is through your destruction is not my fault but the Horde's. You have had your chances, and you have shown that Azeroth cannot trust you."

Rexxar snorted and shook his head.

"When could the world ever trust anybody? Ours is a history of senseless war, beaches full of it, with only a few specks of true greatness strewn among it. Your people are no more immune to it than anybody else."

"Are we not? Have humans ever succumbed as an entire race to the lure of the Burning Legion? have we ever invaded another world and waged war against its people without provocation? Have we ever decided to put a monster upon our throne, whose atrocities scarred the hearts and souls of the people of at least three continents? No, we humans might be deeply flawed people, and the Alliance might not be perfect, but against the Horde's history of butchery, our shortcomings pale in comparrison."

"You think a list gives you cause to judge the fate of not one but several peoples?" Rexxar asked. "Words mean nothing. I have heard them being twisted to suit sinister goals before."

Jaina put her hands to her hips and gave the towering Half-Ogre a gloating chuckle.

"Are you denying the truth of what I am saying? That the things I named were crimes committed by the Horde?"

Rexxar shrugged. "Truth? An interesting concept, as fickle as the people that came up with it. Take yourself as an example. You believed in peace. You believed in that attacking the Horde after the battle of Mount Hyjal was wrong and you stood up for what you believed in. Those things used to be your truth, but they are no longer. Maybe all those words you keep spluttering are what you need to keep it that way. Or maybe truth is not quite as constant as they claim."

Jaina's hands were trembling, begging to shoot up and unleash the full power of her magics against the beast master. She really hated him with all her heart in that moment. What was he suggesting? That she had talked herself into hating the Horde? It was ridiculous. The only thing that stayed her hand was the fact that Rexxar himself had not shown any hostility towards her so far. He had even kept Misha in check. Ambushing him would not have felt right. Jaina had lost much of herself already, but this was something she was not prepared to give up as well. Not yet anyway.

Her arms slackened. "I did not listen to my father back then," she said. "I was young and foolish, unwilling to see what he already knew in his heart to be true. I betrayed him, and allowed those very axes you now carry to cut into him."

Rexxar nodded. "You rather wished you didn't?"

Jaina looked at the Mok'Nathal as if he was a little kid that had just asked an incredibly stupid question.

"Of course I do! He was my father, and the Horde did not deserve to be saved."

"You disagreed back then," said Rexxar, crossing his arms.

Jaina huffed her frustration out of her nostrils and began to pace on the spot.

"I already told you that I was wrong! Have you not been listening?"

"I have," Rexxar assured her. "But I don't think you did. I am not here to tell you that your rage is unjustified or that what was done to your city was anything but disgusting. But the present does not change the past. We fought back then to defend an Orgrimmar that did not wish for war, to stop your father and his men from laying waste to it with their canons, destroying the homes of families and children. I stand by that decision, Jaina Proudmoore, including killing your father. Defending the city was the right thing to do, as it would have been in the case of yours. That it did not happen is something I regret, and I do not stand alone in this."

Something wet began to run down Jaina's cheeks, but in her unblinking stare, she did not even realize it. She did not understand it. Why was she still listening? Why was she allowing Rexxar to speak at all? He had just admitted not even regretting killing her father. How could she possibly let that stand? He mind drifted back to the days following their arrival on Kalimdor. She felt again the uncertainty and the desperate purpose; the pressure of so many looking to her for leadership and guidance. Back then, she had not been used to that yet. Having followed the advice of the mysterious prophet, she had abandoned Lordaeron and her homeland, coming to make her stand against a threat she had been convinced had already sunken its teeth into the Eastern Kingdoms. She had been right. Lordaeron fell to the betrayal of the prince she had once loved, and the Burning Legion invaded Azeroth to finish what the Orcish Horde had started in their name.

But the Legion was defeated. By the Night Elves, by Jaina and her followers and yes; by Thrall and his Horde. Together, they had saved the world.

Before her inner eye, a vision of herself appeared: Younger, less experienced and unmarked by the terrors the future would hold for her. No matter how much Jaina tried, she could not bring herself to truly see a fool. If she could go back and confront herself, tell her of everything that would happen to her and everything she would lose, would her former self have joined her father in an attack on Orgimmar?

A sad smile appeared on Jaina's lips, knowing what the answer to that question would have been.

She no longer was that person. She could not and no longer had any desire to be, but in this moment — for the first time in what felt like an eternity of nightmares — she felt no bitterness, but watched her past reflection with regret, but also fondness and respect.

Rexxar was still standing opposite of her, arms crossed and waiting. Jaina still considered him an enemy and he had just thrown the death of her father in her face, but the hate she had felt a moment ago had cooled to embers.

"You might have a point," she conceded. "But my path remains the same. This changes nothing."

For the first time during their conversation, the towering beast master chuckled.

"Of course it does," he said.

With that, Rexxar turned to leave. Jaina's tried to stop him, desiring to know what he meant by that, but the moment he turned, the mists around him swooped in like a churning tide, swallowing him and his companion from sight. She received no answer.

Alone again, Jaina allowed her eyes to roam the crossroads again. Everything looked just as it had before Rexxar's arrival. She sighed, shook her head, and started walking again, disappearing into the mist as well. This time, she did not go back the way she had come.

The End


End file.
